BAMAKO by Aribert Raphael (latest books to read .TXT) 📕

that time, but I do not believe he had ever met Monsieur Hjamal prior to his coming to Vancouver. As I recall, both acted as total strangers when they were introduced. As for meeting Mr. Gillman, I cannot be sure. Mr. Flaubert mentioned he had spoken to ‘an engineer’ when we last broached the subject.”
“I’m sorry to have troubled you, Ms Kartz, but these questions demanded answers. We have informed Mr. Flaubert of the events and we are expecting his answer tonight. Now, would you like for Maitre Sangor to have a copy of the letter?”
“Yes, of course.”
Hassan had been respectfully silent, and after reading the letter Talya had handed to him, he looked positively baffled. This was all new to her friend. She gathered he never had to deal with this sort of international incident before that morning. It was a first for Talya as well, let alone a murder.
“Am I correct in assuming that Mr. Gillman died at the hands of a stranger and not just as a result of an accident?” Hassan asked.
“Yes, you are correct, Maitre. When the coroner in Dakar has completed his autopsy, we will be able to ascertain the circumstances surrounding Mr. Gillman’s death. In the meantime, if you have any further questions regarding Mr. Gillman, I suggest you direct all of your queries to the chief of police, whom you’ve met a while ago.”
Switching her attention from the envelope in her lap to the consul, Talya said, “We understand this is now a police matter and we also understand this event occurred outside of your territory. But there are several issues in the letter that warrant clarification, other than my involvement in this affair.”
“Pray tell, which issues are these?” The consul frowned.
“As the letter states, Mr. Broughton, there are two companies involved in this matter besides Carmine. What are these people doing right now? Who are the people involved? Is there anyone in Mali who has some information regarding the work contracted to Mr. Gillman in this country? And, last but not least, how is it possible that Mr. Gillman returned to Senegal after going through such an ordeal first time round?”
His eyes didn’t leave the blotter on his desk when Mr. Broughton answered, “As I said to Maitre Sangor just now, these sorts of queries should all be addressed to the police either here or in Dakar.” Lifting his face to Talya, he added, “If I avoid giving you any of the answers you are seeking, Ms Kartz, it is because we are all in the dark. We only have very few facts in hand—your name scribbled in the margin of the letter, for one thing, and your company’s name being mentioned in the text, for another.” He returned to fiddling with his pen. “As for the other companies, we only know that they had a business relationship with Minorex at the time Richard Gillman was held hostage. That’s all the facts we have for the moment.” Sure! Talya thought.
Putting the pen down, Mr. Broughton pushed the chair away from the desk and looked at Talya and Hassan in turn. “We didn’t know how or why you are involved in this matter. And, since you are in some way associated with the very same people who may have caused Mr. Gillman’s demise, we wanted not only to question your involvement but to alert you of the dangers that you may be facing in Dakar.”
“Let me ask you this then: Richard said in his letter that he was depositing it with the embassy…. Do you know if they in fact received this message?” Talya asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. But if they did, our ambassador never said so when I talked to him last.”
His manner had come down a notch or two. The stiff upper-lip was slowly receding into a gentler smile. That’s more like it. And it was time for her to simmer down. As for Hassan, he clearly didn’t want to intervene.
They talked a while longer mostly about the weather in Canada. Canadians seem to do that a lot when they’re overseas. They had coffee and ‘took a break’, the Canadian way. Hassan joined into the conversation a few times and asked many questions about their country, particularly about Vancouver.

37
They left an hour later after receiving another copy of the letter in a sealed envelope. As they walked to Hassan’s car, Talya was lost in thought. She couldn’t help feeling that Richard Gillman omitted to say something in his message. It had been very important—vital in fact. She couldn’t think what that something was for the moment, however. She would have to wait until she took another virtual tour of the letter to find out.
When they got back to the Grand Hotel, Chantal was sitting in the lobby, expecting them. It was almost lunchtime, and seeing her reminded Talya that she had a date with her.
Chantal got up and walked toward them, she looked harassed. “Talya, finally! Where have you been?”
“Everywhere, Chantal, but, let me introduce you to Maitre Hassan Sangor. Hassan, this is Madame Gauthier.”
“Enchanté, Madame Gauthier. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Maitre, and it’s a pleasure,” Chantal replied mechanically. Then turning to Talya, “I have been worried sick about you. The police paid me a visit this morning and told me there has been a murder in Dakar. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to bother Jean-Claude.” Then, brushing a quick glance by Hassan’s face, and shaking her head, “I am sorry, Maitre, but I phoned your office also. Since I couldn’t reach either of you, I decided to come here and wait for you.”
“We shouldn’t talk in the lobby. Let’s go up to my room,” Talya said, leading the way up the stairs. She didn’t know if Hassan would follow them, but whether he would, didn’t seem important—she had other things on her mind besides observing Islamic etiquette.
Follow he did, however, and was already asking questions of Chantal. He was impatient, as Talya was, to get to the bottom of this mire. “Madame Gauthier, at what time did the police come to see you?”
They had almost reached the room when Chantal answered, “Oh, it must have been around ten o’clock.”
Talya unlocked the door, dropped her bag on the bed and asked both of them to sit down anywhere they pleased. She was doing away with formalities. She really didn’t care at this point whether they stood, sat or lay down.
Hassan took up the conversation where he left off. “Tell me, Madame Gauthier, what did the officer ask? What did he say, precisely—to the best of your recollection?”
Talya didn’t want to interrupt. She sat in one of the chairs by the window. Chantal and Hassan had decided to sit on the bed.
“Yes, Maitre, but before I answer, I think there is something you should know. Jean-Claude is involved in this matter as well. I didn’t want to phone him before I spoke to Talya and before we had a chance to get together.”
Talya was surprised at the suggestion. “I didn’t know Jean-Claude was involved with anything in Senegal?—apart from the trip he took with James last year, of course.”
“But that’s just it. James and Jean-Claude went to Senegal together. I was still in Brussels. I don’t remember all of the details; I’ve been trying to recall the date when they went away. Jean-Claude has all of his diaries with him in Brussels, so I can’t be sure, but I think it would’ve been around the middle of May last year.”
The timing, as approximate as it were, fitted with dates mentioned in the letter. “April … 14… days later, the ball mill arrived. …During this time, the site was visited by a Canadian company…” It coincided with James’s description of their visit at Sabodala.
“Now, to answer your question, Maitre,” Chantal continued, returning her gaze to Hassan, “The officer was very curt, even terse with me. He simply advised me that he would need to talk to Jean-Claude as soon as he came back. He said he’d been told that my husband and our president, I mean, James, had visited a mine-site in Senegal last year and that his name was mentioned in a letter that was found on the body of a murdered man. He also said the dead man was an engineer who’d worked in Mali and in Senegal, and he wanted to know if Jean-Claude had any knowledge of this man’s professional engagements in Mali. The officer didn’t say who the man was. Maybe if he had mentioned his name, I could’ve told him if I knew him or if Jean-Claude had ever spoken of him even in passing…. I thought that perhaps you had more information about this than what the officer told me. Anyway, I couldn’t call Jean-Claude before I knew more. I don’t want to worry him for nothing.”
“Talya, would you mind if I told Madame Gauthier the story?” He was looking at her now. “It would give me a chance to put all these events in some kind of order in my own mind. Also, do you want Madame Gauthier to read the letter?”
“Sure. I think she’ll understand a lot more when she reads it.”
Talya got up from her seat and went to the telephone. Her appetite was on the rise again. With this appetite of mine, I should be a blimp by now.
“I’ll get some drinks sent up from the bar and maybe some sandwiches,” Talya said distractedly as she dialled the room service number.
Chantal turned toward her. “Is that the same letter the officer mentioned?”
“The very same,” Talya replied.
“Yes, it is,” Hassan said. “But first let me tell you what we know, and how Talya is involved…” He went on explaining how they were called to both the police station and the Canadian consulate to answer questions about Talya’s name being scribbled in the margin of Richard Gillman’s letter, which he finally handed to Chantal. She began reading.
Talya ordered lunch, returned to her chair and waited for Chantal to finish reading.
Something suddenly caught her eye; out there, beneath the window, the white Mercedes—the only mother-of-pearl Mercedes in the whole of Bamako. Rheza’s car was in the parking lot. Talya practically ran to the door, flung it open, hurried down the hallway, tumbled down the stairs and came to a stop in front of an amazed receptionist.
“Madame Kartz, what is it? What’s going on? May I help you?”
“You probably could, Monsieur Dia. I have just seen Madame Rheza McLean’s car in the parking lot, has she been in?”
“No, Madame Kartz, I haven’t seen Madame McLean in days.”
In the meantime, Hassan and Chantal had come down, wondering what had bitten her. Talya briefly told them what she had seen. Hassan went outside to examine the car. He walked around it, peered through the side-windows and came back to the lobby where Chantal and Talya were still standing.
“Yes, that’s her car.” He turned to the clerk and spoke in Bambara. Monsieur Dia answered with restraint and concern in his voice. Hassan turned to Talya and told them that a man came during the night, he was driving the Mercedes and he was staying at the hotel. “His